


BFF

by Jld71, ShadyB



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jld71/pseuds/Jld71, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadyB/pseuds/ShadyB
Summary: At 14, Harry Hook was a scared, scarred child living in the shadow of his father.   What Uma needed was a cruel Lieutenant.  So she took it upon herself to unlock his rage.





	BFF

**BFF**

In the beginning, back when they were so little they still went to school instead of running wild, Uma felt an affinity for Mal.  The two of them were so alike, delicately built but strong inside, commanding.  Of all the children of all the villains, Mal was the only one she could consider her equal.  

            But Mal was funny, contrary.  She never took the place at Uma’s side she seemed destined for.  She was friends with Evie.  Uma couldn’t understand that.  Evie was stupid, with all her silly dreams, always playing at princess, making pretty things instead of breaking them.  Yet Mal took care of cry baby Evie.  When Uma laughed at Evie’s homemade dress and pushed her in the mud Mal didn’t cheer her on.  She helped Evie up and stomped in the mud so Uma got all dirty.  When Uma tried to pick on Carlos, who was little and scared and just asking to be picked on, Mal didn’t join in.  She told Carlos he was okay and let him play with her and her friends.  

Mal’s friends.  A couple of years later they were Mal’s gang and Uma wasn’t a part of it.  

So she decided to get a gang of her own.  

At first, she tried to recruit Gil but he was a lost cause.  He wouldn’t take anything seriously.  Further, he’d been brought up with certain beliefs about his own worth and felt that he’d make a much better leader than Uma. On top of that, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend taking orders from a girl.  In Gil’s mind, if not reality, girls existed to serve and swoon over him.  No amount of pounding could convince him otherwise.  Uma kept him in the wing for emergencies but he would never be a proper member of her gang.  

So she made Harry her gang.  

Harry was prissy and whiny but at least willing to follow orders.  At 10, he was hardly bigger than her but he had potential.  His father was tall and strong, handsome in a grim sort of way and utterly ruthless.  She hoped that Harry would grow into his role as a proper bully, thief and enforcer.  

Well, maybe not.  By 14, Harry had grown tall and was filling out nicely but he remained timid and skittish.  He was devoted, yes.  He plainly adored Uma but he wasn’t exactly a badass.  Once in a great while, when he had someone completely in his power there would be a flash of what she wanted from him but it would all too quickly fade away.

She went to her mother for advice.

“Evil by nature does not work well with others,” Ursula snipped.  “But if you insist on being surrounded by rabble I suppose you could do worse than that boy.  As he is, he’s of no use.  You’ll have to turn him around.”

“Turn him around?”

“Some villains are so caught up in their own selfishness, in the proclivities, that they fail to look at the future.  I invested in the next generation.  I raised you to be strong and work hard.  But your little friend’s father is one of the shortsighted ones.  He’s taken his pleasure and turned his son into a victim.”

Uma nodded. She’d always taken special care never to ask Harry about the perpetually frightened look he wore and had very much hoped he wouldn’t volunteer any information.  Only on an island devoted to evil would a man like that be allowed to raise a young boy.  

“But that’s good news for you, my dear.  Inside every victim is a villain waiting to come out.”

“Is there something you can give me, mother?  One of your charms?”

“You already have all the charm you need, my girl.  Your sweet face, your body, your lovely voice.  A sea witch plays men like a virtuoso plays their piano.  Use your instincts.  They’ll guide you to whatever you desire.”    

So Uma began to watch as often as she could, though it chilled her blood.  To watch Harry and his father.  

Hook’s face was rugged and hard, made up of sharp angles.  It betrayed no affection, no warmth, no shame.  His body was long and lean, clad in black.  He was a cut of shadow that took the form of a man.  His eyes; his hook gleamed in the darkness.  

Uma watched the way he held his son, the way he curved his hook around Harry’s throat or his wrist.  The way Harry seemed pinned there like an insect mounted by a collector, transfixed, a pin through his heart.  When Hook spoke to his son he leaned in close, so close when he whispered his lips touched Harry’s ear.  Sometimes he would draw his hook along the boys arm or down his back.  She watched how Harry trembled at his touch.  Started at his word. No surprises.  Everyone knew.  Everyone turned away.

 Only on an island devoted to evil.

“Learn his power,” Uma whispered.  “Take it for myself.”

She practiced, in small ways.  She took to wrapping her tiny hand around Harry’s wrist is she stood beside him or his neck if she stood behind him.  She took to whispering when she gave him orders and letting her lips touch the shell curve of his ear.  It made him flinch and then she would laugh at him.  He hated to be laughed at.  It always made him that much meaner.  

Yes, she was pushing in the right direction but not yet hard enough.

She chose a day when her mother was away at the fish market.  She was supposed to be working in the restaurant but she convinced another of the girls to cover her shift.  She invited Harry in, asked him up to her room.  

“Come here,” she said, taking a stick of kohl from her makeup table.  “Close your eyes,” she ordered and he did, kept them closed as she outlined his lids in black.  “There, aren’t you pretty.  Most boys wouldn’t let me do that, Harry.  But you, you’re like my best girlfriend.”

He smiled nervously, not sure if he should be flattered or offended.  He wanted to please but he had a fragile pride.  She stroked his hair, running her fingers through his curls.  When she touched him her fingers seemed to shimmer and elongate, to reach like they could wrap around, like tentacles.  The magic touch of a sea witch.  

“We are good friends.  Aren’t we, Harry?”  She purred.

“Ay, since we was kiddies,” he agreed.

“So you must trust, don’t you?  Trust me to always do what’s best for you.”  

“Yes, Uma.  Of course.”

He looked at her, questioning but eager.  Maybe it was the kohl but his eyes seemed wide open, childlike in their innocence.

“I’m going to ask you to do some things for me.  Will you do them, Harry?  Will you trust me?”

“Yes, Uma.”

“I want you to take off your clothes.”

“What?”  Her fist tightened in his hair and her voice became deep and cruel.

“I said take off your clothes.  Now.”  An order this time.  Not to be disobeyed.  He jumped to his feet,  backed away from her and after a moment's hesitation began to undress.

“Good.  That’s right.  Everything off,” she commanded.  He was going as fast as he could, his single hand struggling with the many buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, the lacings of his breeches and boots.  His ridiculous pirate clothes.  Finally he wiggled out of his underthings and stood before her, completely naked.

She’d never seen a boy naked before.  She was surprised at the ease she felt, she was not nervous at all.  If her heart pounded it was with a dark excitement of what was to come.  

He was beautiful, really, his body taunt and well muscled, his skin exquisitely pale.  A network of pink scars crossed his shoulders, his stomach and his thighs.   On his hips and buttocks there were a few fresh scratches among the old.  Uma stepped forward, traced the line of a cut with her fingertip light as a feather.

“Where’d you get these from, Harry?”  She asked.  “Did daddy’s hook slip while he was tucking you in.”

Hurt filled those wide eyes, hurt and fear.  She’d never mentioned his father to him before, never brought it up.  He’d let himself believe she didn’t know, that it wouldn’t matter between them, that there was a part of him Hook hadn’t touched.  

“He’s marked you, Harry,” Uma whispered.  “You know what these scars tell me?  That you’ve been used.  That you’re second hand.  At 14 years old you’re already damaged goods.  They tell me you’ve let yourself be used.  They tell me you’ll let it happen again and again and again, that I can do whatever I want to you and you won’t stop me.”

As she spoke she leaned in till her lips touched his ear.  Her lips and then her sharp little teeth.  She bit his ears, his neck, his face as her hand encircled his cock, rubbing and tugging ungently, making him hard.  He reached for her, his hand and hook on her waist but she spun away, out of his reach, slapping his hand away.

“No,” she snapped.  “You don’t get to touch me.”

She went to her closet, pulled something from the back.  It was her treasure, a faded ball gown of lavender and sea green, layers of satin and tulle.  She’d found it washed up on the beach, swept overboard from a pleasure cruise or blown all the way from Auradon.  She tossed it to Harry.

“Put this on, girlfriend,” she said mockingly.  Hands trembling, he pulled it over his head.   The bodice pulled tight across his flat, hard chest, it gaped open in the back, from the middle of his shoulders to below his waist.  The skirt, frayed but still diaphanous, outlined his hard-on.  “Lovely.”

“Why are you being like this, Uma?”  He asked.

“Am I scaring you, little pirate?  You’re shaking.  Trembling.  I like that.”  She drew him to her, pressed herself to him, let him feel her body through the thin fabric of the dress.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.  Why are you doing this …”

“Shhhh.”

She kissed him, licking his plush lips, her tongue undulating into his mouth, wrapping around his.  Her hands running down his back, the muscles and bones of his spine to the crack of his buttocks.  Her deft little fingers found his anus.

“Is this daddy’s special place, Harry?”  She pressed against the opening, teasing cruelly.  “Daddy’s special place …”

“Stop it.  Don’t say that.”

“Daddy’s little boy.  Do you like it when daddy touches you?”

“No.  I hate it.  Stop …”

She slid her finger inside him, following her witching instincts, reaching inside him, touching a spot like the trigger of a gun.  He gasped raggedly and his hips jerked against her.  She stepped back, watched as a dark stain of wetness appear on the skirt of her dress.

She slapped him across the face with all her strength, again and again and again.  

“You filthy animal,” she screamed.  “Look what you’ve done to my treasure.”  She flew at him like one of the furies, pounding and kicking.  He didn’t fight back.  He crumbled to the floor sobbing.  

“Stop it, Uma.  Please stop.  I don’t understand.”

Finally, she did stop.  She knelt beside him, stroking his hair.

“It’s alright, Harry,” she said soothingly.  “We’re still friends.  It’s just that you need to see that everyone knows.”  She wrapped her hand around his throat, pulling his head to her breast.  “All those things you think you keep secret, about your father, about how weak you are.  Everyone knows.  They’re all laughing at you, Harry.  At daddy’s dirty little boy who cries and moans for daddy in the dark.”

“I never wanted to, he made me.  I tried to make him stop.  He was too strong.  When it started, I didn’t know … I was so young …”

“No excuses, Harry.  You let him.  You’ll let me.”

She pushed the skirts of the ballgown up over his thighs, touched his cock.  Gently this time, carefully.  He grew hard, shivering as she stroked him, anticipation and fear filling his body, overflowing through his eyes.  

She stood, dropped her trousers to the floor along with her little lace panties.  She grabbed his hair, for a moment she clasped his face to the triangle of hair between her legs, dark and curling as seaweed.  When she released him he gazed up at her, eyes unfocused, his full lips parted, not knowing what she would do next, as transfixed, as pinned down by her as he had ever been for his father.

She straddled his lap, on her knees, hovering above him.  Taking his cock in hand she traced the lips of her sex with its tip.  First barely touching, then deeper and deeper, letting him feel her growing wetness.  

“What do you say, Harry?”

“Please,” he moaned, eyes closed.  Again he reached for her and she slapped him away.  “Please, Uma.”

“I like to hear you say my name.”

She bore down, took in the length of him.  She thought it would hurt but it didn’t, the role she played protected her from pain, made her invincible.  He cried out wordlessly as she enveloped him, his body tensing, rising to enter her.  

“Please, Uma, I can’t bear it.”  She could feel he was on the edge of coming again.  She slapped his face, pulled him back.  

“You’ll bear it until I say otherwise,” she snarled.  “I’m marking you, Harry,” she said.  “You’re not daddy’s slut anymore, you’re mine.  I’m the one you moan and cry for now.  Who do you belong to, Harry?”  She asked, bucking her hips.

“You,” he gasped.  She slapped him again, in rhythm with her moving hips.

“Say me name.  Who do you belong to?”  Slap.

“Uma.  Oh my God… Uma, Uma, don’t stop.”

“Are you daddy’s boy?”  Slap.

“No.  Uma.”

“Can daddy do this for you?”

“No.  No.  Only hurts me.  Hate him… Oh God, oh God.  Please.  I’m yours.  I’m Uma’s, Uma…”

He grabbed hold of her, of her shoulders, clutching her to him, burying his face in her neck.  She didn’t stop him this time, let him cling to her.  She rode him, her nails digging into his back.  His urgency built until his whole body seemed to quiver.  

“Don’t you dare come till I say so, Harry Hook.”  She hissed.  She bit his cheek, hard enough to draw blood.  He gritted his teeth, trying to control himself but not knowing how, desperate to not displease her, panicked, nearly crying.  She laughed.  “Poor baby, poor little boy.  Who’s a big scary pirate now?”

Orgasm rippled through her body.  She knew it, embraced it.  It was a witches right to take and take and take.  She took her pleasure of him while he desperately begged for release and only when she was fully satiated did she grind against him and whisper, “now.”

With a stifled cry, half agony and half bliss he let go, his whole body shuddering, grasping her so tightly that for a moment she couldn’t breath.  Finished, he collapsed against her, his cock softening inside her.  

She pushed him off her, got to her feet.  

“That was fun,” she said.  “And I hope educational.”

He looked up at her.  His shoulders were bare where the dress had fallen off, his dark curls tangled.  He reached for her, one more time.  

“Uma…” he said tenderly, longingly.  She kicked him in the face.  For a long minute he hung his head, blood dripping from his nose and down his chin, irreversibly staining the gown she had once treasured.  Then he looked up at her again and for one spare moment, hatred flashed in his eyes.

“You bitch,” he snarled.  “What did you do to me?”

It chilled her but it was too late to turn back.

“Angry, Harry?  See what you can do with that anger.  Impress me and maybe next time I won’t make you beg so hard.”  

After that, Harry had the rage in him, deep and slow burning.  Taking his cues from Uma, he cloaked it in bitter laughter.  He became crueler, a hint of sadism began to glint in him.  

Periodically, Uma would take him in hand, remind him what he was.  A victim, damaged goods, a thing that could be used and abused by whoever had the will to take command.  The more she reminded him, the more he fought to be otherwise.  To be the villain, the bad guy, the one who called the shots.  He went with other girls (and she suspected, men).  He gained a reputation for being rough, aggressive, even prefatory.  By 16, he had truly blossomed into his sick father’s son.  He was all the gang a girl could want.  

Uma would never admit it but sometimes he scared her.  And always, she felt like she’d lost her best friend.  

 


End file.
